Shame on you! said the other. You know how I like a good argument: the persuasion of una.s.sailable logic, the deft manipulation of words, the skilf ul haggling before a bargain is struck. Would you deny me these simple plea sures?

'Spit it out, Faethor,' said Harry. 'Tell me what you want, and also what it 's worth to you. And only then - if I can deliver and still live with myself - o nly then let's talk about bargains.'

Bah! the other answered; but was equally quick to follow up, Very well.

And without more ado: / have heard it from the dead that you are come upon hard times. Yes, I admit it, I knew that you had been stripped of your pow ers. Oh, it's true, I am a pariah among the dead, but sometimes when they t alk it pleases me to 'overhear' what is said.Much has been said about you, Harry Keogh, and I have overheard it. Not only are you forbidden to deadspe ak, but you no longer command the facility of instantaneous transportation.

This is all true?

'Yes.'

So (Harry sensed Faethor's curt nod.) Now, I know nothing of this . . .

teleportation? And so in that sphere may not help you. It involves numbers , I believe - the simultaneous resolution of myriad complicated equations?

- and in that I admit to a failing. I am out of touch by a thousand years, and even in my heyday was never much of a mathematician. But as for the que stion of deadspeak, there we might come to some agreement.

Harry tried not to show his eagerness. 'An agreement? You think you can return it to me? You don't know what you're saying. Experts have handled my case. In my waking hours I can no more speak to the dead than pour acid i n my ears! That is, I can, but the result would be the same. I know for I'v e tried it - once! And also because it was forced upon me - once!'

So, said Faethor again. And I have also heard it whispered by the dead, that this mischief was worked upon you by your own son in a world other th an this world. Astonishing! So, you found your way there, did you? Aye, and suffered the consequences . . .

'Faethor,' said Harry, 'get to the point.'

The point is simple. Only the Wamphyri could so interfere with your mind , and even then only one of their most powerful. It was the art of fascinati on - hypnotism -as used by a great master of that art, which crippled you, H arry Keogh. Ah, and I pride myself that I too was just such a master!

'You're saying that you can cure me?'

Faethor chuckled darkly, for he knew as well as Harry himself that the e x-Necroscope was hooked. What is written may be erased, he said, as you now appreciate. But just as surely, what is set askew may be put to rights! Only put yourself in my hands, and it shall be done.

Harry shrank back. 'Put myself in your hands? Let you into my mind, as Dragosani once let Thibor into his? Do you think I'm mad?'

/ think you are desperate.

'Faethor, I-' .

Now listen to me, the long-extinct vampire interrupted. / have spoken o f mutual advantage, and of the dead whispering in their tombs. But some of them do more than merely whisper. In the mountains of the Metalici and Zaru ndului there are those who cry out in their very terror of that which is ri sen up! For not even the centuries-dead -not even their bones and their dus t - are safe from this one. Aye, and I know his name, and I deem myself res ponsible.

And now Harry was hooked more surely than ever, but like a fish on a li ne he intended to give the vampire a good run for his money. 'Faethor,' he said, 'you're saying that one of the Wamphyri has come among us. But I alre ady knew this. Where's the advantage in that? Was I supposed to deliver my mind into your hands for such a sc.r.a.p as this? You do think I'm mad!'

No, I think you are dedicated. To the eradication of what you term a foul ness. You would destroy it before it destroys you. You would do it for the sa fety and sanity of your world, and I would do it. . . solely for my satisfact ion. For I hated this one even as I hated Thibor.

'Who was he?' Harry shot the question, hoping against hope to catch the o ther out and read the answer in his startled mind.

But Faethor only tut-tutted, and Harry sensed a saddened, disappointed shake of his head. No need for that, my son, he said, oh so quietly, for I'

ll gladly tell you his name. Why not? For you won't remember it when you awaken. His name - his most hated, despised name - was Janos! And such was th e venom in his voice that Harry knew it was true.

'Your son,' he sighed, nodding. 'Your second son, after Thibor. Janos Fer enczy. So now at least I know who I'm up against, if not what.'

The who of it is Janos, said Faethor, and without my help the what of it wi ll destroy you utterly!

'Then tell me about him,' Harry answered. Tell me all you can of him, and I 'll try to do the rest. You've bargained well. I can't refuse you.'

Again Faethor chuckled. And: Indeed your memory is short, he said. It wi ll last only as long as your dream!

Harry saw that it was true and his frustration turned to anger. 'Then wha t has been the point? Did you only come to mock me after all?'

Not at all, I came to seal a bargain. And it is sealed. You will come to me where you know I lie, and we shall speak again - but the next time you'll remember!

'But I won't even remember this time!' Harry cried out.

Ah, but you will, you will, Faethor's fading voice came echoing out of the rolling fog. You'll remember something of it, at least. For I've seen to it, Harry. I've seen to it, Haaarry Keeooogh!

'Harry?' Someone stood beside him, bent over him.

'Harry' Sandra's urgent hand was on his arm; and Darcy Clarke hurrying t o answer a banging at the door, where Manolis Papastamos was shouting to be let in; and a feeble dawn light struggling to find cracks in the louvres.

Harry leaped awake, lurched upright like a drunkard and almost overtur ned his chair. But Sandra was there to support him. He held her close, and in another moment Darcy and Manolis were in the room.

'A terrible thing! A terrible thing!' Manolis kept repeating, as Darcy o pened a window and shutters to let in the pale light of a newly dawning day.

But as the room sprang to life so Manolis's jaw fell open and he pointed a trembling hand at a huge Greek tapestry covering the better part of one enti re wall. The tapestry was moving!

'G.o.d almighty!' Darcy gasped, as Sandra clung to Harry more tightly yet.

The tapestry was a panorama of banded blue sky over brown mountains an d white villages, but printed on the sky in letters eighteen inches high w as a name: FAETHOR. And it was printed in fur that crawled!

Already Harry's dream was forgotten, but he would never in a lifetime f orget his waking conversations with this father of vampires. 'Faethor!' he gasped the word out loud. And as if it were some Word of Power, the name at once broke up the legend written on the tapestry - into a hundred individu al bats! No bigger than winged mice, they released their hold on the fabric and whirled around the room once before escaping through the open window.

And: 'So, it's true,' said Manolis Papastamos, white and trembling, the first to regain command of his senses. 'It all comes together. I had thought K en Layard and Trevor Jordan were the strange policemen, and you three strange r still. But of course, because you hunt the strange criminal!'

Sandra caught a telepathic glimpse of his mind, and knew that he knew.

'You should have told me from the beginning,' he said, flopping down int o a chair. 'I am a Greek and some of us understand these things.'

'Do you, Manolis?' said Darcy. 'Do you?'

'Oh, yes,' said the other, nodding. 'Your criminal, your murderer, he is t he Vrykoulakas. He is the vampire!'

9.

Cat and Mouse

'I understand why you didn't trust me,' said Papastamos, 'but you should have. What? You think the Greeks are ignorant of these things? Greeks, of a ll people? Listen, I was a boy in Phaestos on the island of Crete, born and lived there until I was thirteen. Then I went to my sister in Athens. But I never forgot the myths of the islands, and I never forgot what I saw and hea rd there. Did you know that there are places in Greece even now where they p ut the silver coins on the eyes of the dead, to keep them closed? Hah! Those slits in the eyes of Layard. He kept opening his eyes!'

Darcy said to him: 'Manolis, how could we know? If you took a hundre d people and told them you were hunting a vampire, how many do you think would believe you?'

'Here in Greece, in the Greek islands, ten or twenty,' the other answer ed. 'Not the young peoples, no, but the old ones who remember. And up in th e mountains - in the mountain villages of Karpathos, for example, or Crete, or better still in Santorin - maybe seventy-five out of a hundred! Because the old ways die hard in such places. Don't you know where you are? Just l ook at a map. Six hundred miles away is Romania! And do you think the Romanian peoples don't know the Vrykoulakas, the vampire? No, no, we are not the innocent childrens, my friends!'

'Very well,' said Harry, 'let's waste no more time. You know, you underst and, you believe - we accept that. But still we warn you that myths and legen ds can be very different from the real thing.'

'I'm not so sure,' Manolis shook his head. 'And in any case I have had t he experience of the real thing. When I was a boy thirty years ago there was a sickness. The children were growing weak. An old priest had lived on the island in a remote place in the stony hills. He had lived there, all alone, for many years. He said he was alone for his sins, and dared not surround hi mself with the people. Recently he had been found dead in his place and they had buried him there. But now the village priest went there with the people - with the fathers of the sick children - and dug him up. They found him fa t and red and smiling! And how did they deal with him? I heard it later - wi th a wooden spear through the heart. I cannot be sure, no, but that night th ere was a big bonfire in the hills, and its light was seen for miles around.'

'I think we should tell Manolis everything,' said Sandra.

'We will,' Harry nodded, 'but first he came here to tell us something.'

'Ah!' Manolis gave a start and stood up. 'My G.o.d, but now this vampire y ou hunt - there are two of them!'

Harry groaned. 'Ken Layard!'

'Of course, the poor Ken. This morning, one hour ago, I get the call. I t is the morgue. They have found the naked body of a mortician. He is dead with a broken neck. And Ken Layard's body has disappeared. And then - ' he spoke directly to Harry,' - then I remember what you say about Layard being undead, and that you want him burned very quickly. And then I know. But th is is not all.'

'Go on, Manolis,' Darcy prompted him.

'The Samothraki has been absent from the harbour since the night of the trouble under the old windmills, when I saved Layard from the sea. This morn ing the fishermen have brought in many pieces of burned wreckage. It is - it was - the Samothraki! And still there is more. A girl, a prost.i.tute, died o n the streets three, four nights ago. She has been examined. The doctor says it could have been anything: not eating - the, how do you say, malnutrition ? - or perhaps she fainted and lay in the alley all night, and so died of th e exposure. But most likely it is the anaemia. Hah! You know this anaemia? N o blood in the body? My G.o.d - anaemia!'

'Like a plague.' Harry groaned. 'She must be burned, too.'

'She will be,' Manolis promised. 'Today. Believe me, I will see to it!'

Sandra said: 'And still we're no closer to discovering who the vampire is, or what he's done to Ken. And I for one would like to know how those bats got in here . . .' Harry indicated a domed wood-burning fireplace where its flue went up int o a brick wall. 'At least there's no great mystery there,' he said. 'As to La yard: he's now in thrall to this thing and, depending how strong his will is, serving it faithfully. And the vampire's ident.i.ty? Well, there's a clue I ca n follow up. I think I may know someone who has the answer.'

'What clue?' Manolis faced him. 'Any clue - all clues -are for me. No mo re secrets. Also, I want to know about that word the bats made on the wall: what did it mean?'

'That's the clue,' said Harry. 'Faethor fixed it so that I couldn't mistake his meaning. He wants me to go and see him.'

Frowning, Manolis looked from face to face. 'This Faethor who fixes such things, and in such a way. He is . . . what?'

'No more secrets?' said Harry, wrily. And: 'Manolis, even if we had an ent ire day to waste, still we couldn't tell you everything. And even you wouldn't believe it all if we did.'

Try me!' Manolis answered. 'But in the car. First you dress and I take you to breakfast, then to the police station in town. I think is the safest place . And meanwhile you tell me everything.'

'Very well, we will,' Darcy agreed. 'But we must be allowed to get on wit h this thing in our own way. And Manolis, we have to be sure that all of this will go no further than you.'

'Anything you say,' the other nodded. 'And anything I can help you with, I will. You are the experts. But please, we are wasting the time. Hurry now!'

They got dressed as quickly as they could . . .

By mid-morning their plans were finalized, and by noon Manolis Papasta mos had set them in action. Once he'd known what was to be done, he wasted little time doing it.

Harry Keogh was now the owner of a suitably worn and well-thumbed Greek pa.s.sport, stamped with a visa for Romania. Ostensibly, its bearer was an '

international dealer in antiques' (a cover which had brought a wry smile to Harry's face), one 'Hari Kiokis', a name which shouldn't give him too much trouble. Sandra had been fixed up with a flight to Gatwick, London, leavin g Rhodes at 9:10 that night, and Darcy would stay here and work with Manoli s. E-Branch had been put as completely in the picture as possible, but for now Darcy hadn't called in any esper help. First he must ascertain the size of the problem, and after that he'd call on help as required and available directly through Sandra.

Harry's flight to Bucharest via Athens was at 2:30; with an hour to spa re he and the others had lunch on the high balcony of a taverna overlooking Mandraki harbour. And it was there that one of the local policemen found t hem, with information for Papastamos. The man was fat and sweaty, scarred and bow-legged; if he hadn't been a policeman then he would've had to be a brigand. He arrived in the road b elow their balcony on a tiny moped which his huge backside almost entirely obscured. 'Hey, Papastamos!' he shouted, waving a fat arm. 'Hey, Manolis!'

'Come on up,' Manolis called down to him. 'Have a beer. Cool down.'

'You won't feel so cool in a minute, Inspector!' the other called back, ent ering the taverna and panting his way upstairs.

When he arrived Manolis offered him a chair, said: 'What is it?'

The other got his breath back, and in wheezing Greek told his story. 'Do wn at the mortuary, at the hospital,' he began. 'We were recording statement s about the missing corpse - ' He glanced at Manolis's company and quickly s hrugged his apologies in the Greek fashion. 'I mean, about the circ.u.mstances in the case of your dead English friend. We took statements from everybody, like you said. There was this girl, a receptionist who was on duty the nigh t you saved his life. She said in her statement that someone went to see him in the early hours of the morning. It was her description of this one that I found interesting. Here, read it yourself.'

He took a crumpled, sweat-stained official statement form from his shirt pocket and handed it over. Manolis quickly translated what he'd been told, th en read the statement. He read it a second time, more thoroughly, and his for ehead creased into a frown. And: 'Listen to this,' he said, reading aloud.

'It must have been about six-thirty in the morning when this man came in. He said he was a Captain and one of his crew had gone missing. He'd he ard how someone had been rescued from the sea and wondered if it was his m an. I took him to see Mr Layard in his room where he was sedated. The Capt ain said: "Ah, no, this one is not mine. I have troubled you for nothing."

I began to turn away but he didn't follow me.

'When I looked back he was standing with his hand on the b.u.mp on Layar d's head, and he said: "This poor man! Such an ugly wound! Still, I am gla d he is not one of mine."

'I said he must not touch the patient and showed him out. It was strange: although he had said he was sorry for Layard, still he was smiling a very pecu liar smile . . .'

Harry had slowly straightened up in his chair as he listened to this, and now he asked, 'And the description?'

Manolis read it out, and mused: 'A sea-Captain; very tall, slim, strange, a nd wearing dark gla.s.ses even in the dawn light. I think ... I think I know this one.'

The fat policeman nodded. 'I think so, too,' he said. 'And when we were watching that fleapit the Dakaris, we saw him come out of there.'

'Hah!' Manolis thumped the table. 'The Dakaris? It's a spit away from whe re they found that poor wh.o.r.e!' And at once: 'I'm sorry, Sandra.' 'Who is he?' Harry demanded.

'Eh?' Manolis looked at him. 'Who? Oh, I'll do even better than that and show you where. There he is!' And he pointed out across the harbour.

The sleek white motor-cruiser was slicing her way out of the harbour thr ough the deep-water channel, but the distance wasn't so great that Harry's k een eyes couldn't read her name. 'The Lazarus!' he breathed. 'And the name o f the owner?'

'The same, almost,' said Manolis. 'Jianni Lazarides.'

'Jianni?' Harry's face was suddenly drawn, lined, grey.

'Johnny,' Manolis shrugged.

'John,' Harry echoed him. And in the back of his mind another voice - or the memory of one - said, Janos!

'Ahhhr Harry clasped his head as pain lanced through his skull. It was sharp but short, nothing so bad as a full-scale attack, a mere warning. But it confirmed his worst suspicions. For Janos could only be a name he'd lea rned from the dead - perhaps from Faethor himself - with whom conversation had been forbidden. He unscrewed his eyes and let in the cruel sunlight and the concerned expressions of his friends. And: 'I know him,' he said, when he could speak. 'And now I know I'm right to go and see Faethor.'